


Piccolo: Son of Daimao

by JadeDrake



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Guilt, Introspection, The Life of Piccolo!, handling trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 14:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeDrake/pseuds/JadeDrake
Summary: Piccolo and his introspection towards his origins, relationships with Gohan and Dende, and how he changed over the years.
Relationships: Dende & Piccolo (Dragon Ball), Piccolo & Son Gohan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Piccolo: Son of Daimao

Piccolo Junior. 

He was his father’s legacy. A failed legacy at that. Well, he personally counted it as a partial victory. He  _ did _ avenge his father by killing Goku, but he also had an active hand in protecting him several times over, as well as the world his father intended to conquer. 

He had tentatively reached a semblance of peace with himself, when he first trained Gohan. He felt like he wasn’t just his father, reborn, but was instead the culmination of who his father was, in a new life entirely. A legacy of him, yes, but not the Demon King himself. It was eye opening, to say the least.

Gohan was important to him in a way no one else had managed to become. Though he grew to appreciate Tien’s wit, Krillan’s tendency to lighten the mood, and Yamcha’s confidence during their time on King Kai’s planet, he still found himself going over what he would be able to pass on to his pupil, and what would have to wait. He may have been inexperienced with properly interacting with others, but he wasn’t an idiot. 

And then, of course, his revival. The blue grass... The gentle green waves, and sky. They sung, and called to him. Or, perhaps more accurately, they called to the memories that his father had kept buried very, very deep. The memories of  _ his _ predecessor. 

Piccolo recalled his father’s memories almost in their entirety. His father was...less than patient with the process of transferring them, even if the circumstances made sense. It didn’t help that his own memories post split were difficult. 

He was Piccolo. His father was Daimao. His-as Earthlings would call him-uncle was Kami, though perhaps he was also his father.

His Grandfather’s name...was unknown.

His father only ever referred to him as he and his worse half’s nameless predecessor. Perhaps, he had mused, sparing a short moment for this, he would begrudge himself long enough to visit the Lookout. See if he could ask his uncle if he knew more. 

And then he had fused with Nail. That was when he properly learned the truth. 

His grandfather’s name was Conch.

Privately, he was amused. On Namek, Namekians were named after snails and slugs while on Earth, they were named after instruments. A conch was a good link between them. The creature that inhabited it was a mollusk, and the shell itself was an instrument to some. Gohan had taught him that when reciting off the biology homework his mother had made him do.

Well, he couldn’t have ignored it, or disregarded it anymore. From the memories of his father loving his children, even if it was in a self absorbed way, to Nail’s cultural experiences made him keenly aware of exactly why he was so willing to throw himself in front of a blast to save Gohan, of why he had charged in after Frieza, to protect him again even though he had only just revived. Gohan was his student. His friend. And somehow, he had come to think of him as his son.

It wasn’t right. He felt that in his gut. That he, the one responsible for the loss of the boy’s father at such a young age, would consider him like his own child? It was sickening. He didn’t like the guilt. It had been present for a while now, but with Nail added in, it had grown beyond what ignorance he could feign. And then, sure enough, after watching his...Well. Not his home, so much as his great grandfather’s(whose name was Katas, Nail supplied)planet in ruins didn’t help. The home of his people’s destruction was sobering in ways he couldn’t shake himself from, mostly because  _ it _ had already shaken  _ him _ . 

From what Nail recalled from the stories his father, Guru, had told him during the long shifts he had guarded him, the cataclysm had spurred Katas into sending his child, Conch, off planet. Conch, however, was so very young, he only had the most basic knowledge possible. That, and the trauma left it nearly impossible to remember Namek, what should have been his home.

That was supplied by Nail’s knowledge, and his father’s memories. Anything before his birth as an individual was somewhat blurred around the edges, but Conch’s youth especially.

Piccolo could admit to himself that, perhaps, Conch would have been a better father to him than Daimao alone, if only because he felt they were similar. 

The memories he had of Conch’s life were blurred and lonely. Years spent in the wastes, with no contact, and a heritage he couldn’t live up to. Something in him very painfully reminded him that, in fact, that was how Piccolo had spent his youth.

Troubled by Humans and other Earthlings. Isolated in wasteland after wasteland. 

Conch had returned to the frozen wastes, but only sparingly. It was mostly to reassure himself that the ship, or house, or whatever it had been, was in fact still there, and that he wasn’t imagining his origins, for as little as he recalled them.

His father, Daimao had retained few of the good memories of Conch, but he seemed to have an abundance of the worst of times.

The days spent inside that ship when he was hardly taller than Dende, curled up, and staring at the freezing winds biting at the grass outside. How he had on occasion broken through the ice trying to get enough water to last him a week, and spent days miserably cold. Speaking to a ship that had long since stopped replying, the words of his native tongue becoming rustier from disuse. 

Of course he left, and almost never went back. That frozen wasteland, and ship itself was his own personal hell. 

Daimao had only ever felt comforted by emptiness because it was one of the only things he had ever known. 

Piccolo was not one to spend a lot of time on philosophy, but if their world’s god had damned a lost man to a life of memories filled with misery and hurt, in order to become pure, was that god really pure? Could he claim such a title, while sentencing someone to self destruction?

Of course, it wasn’t Kami who had made that decision to split, Piccolo had to remind himself. It was Conch himself. Perhaps he wanted to be rid of his hurt as much as he wanted to spare others from such pains. Piccolo couldn’t know the whole truth. Not when Kami had the rest of Conch in him.

Gohan had been too small, when he carried Piccolo to the ship. Too small, and too battered.

Piccolo had eventually returned to Earth alive. He stayed away from the other Namekians, mostly because he had other things on his mind. The only two he allowed close were Cargo and Dende. 

Cargo was far too young to have died, and yet here he was, having checked off one revival already. 

Dende was far too young to have seen so much. There was a heavier weight in his eyes now, in the way he moved. 

He taught them Conch’s, his father’s, and in turn his own method to calm himself from painful memories, and when they became too much. The agitated, restless children meditated with him once a day. Cargo caught on to it quickly, and seeming to spring back from his death fairly easily, gave his brother some needed space.

Piccolo wasn’t quite adept at talking things out with children yet. Hell, it took him being on death’s door the first time to seriously open up to his student. His first death, of course, had shaken him as well. Mostly because it wasn’t exactly his first death, was it? He remembered Daimao’s pain. It wasn't much, only a split second of blinding agony. But, still, it was enough to snap him out of his sleep on occasions when he rested, and his mind became uneasy.

Dende’s father, Moori, had a pained, but knowing look in his eyes whenever he watched Dende quietly slip away from his family to sit with Piccolo. Most of the others assumed it was him trying to say his farewell to Nail. But they knew the truth.

Piccolo knew it everytime Dende gripped onto his pant’s leg, trying to keep his breathing even, or the tears from his eyes. He knew it every time he saw Dende flinch when someone landed near him after flying. Everytime he went quiet in the midst of his cousins and brother playing, and slipped into the tree’s shade.

Piccolo didn’t usually say much. He didn’t often need words, so much as he needed an example. Deep breaths, a comfortable position to sit. 

Just because these examples were helpful, didn’t mean words were totally unneeded. Gohan often came to sit with them, and they would chat quietly, sometimes in light hearted giggles, and others, in a serious hushed tone. Dende would keep a hand on Piccolo’s cape, and Gohan would, too. 

The guilt continued to mount. Gohan, waiting for his father’s revival, and Piccolo had dared to have the thought of, potentially, standing in until then. It seemed to make him feel worse by the day.

Dende came out into the silent courtyard of Capsule Corp after his nightmares to sit with Piccolo, and practice meditation, far more often than he went to his actual father.

Piccolo knew he wasn’t a wise man. He didn’t have near enough sense. He felt more like a thief, robbing people of their own kin. He didn’t fit in with the Earthlings, and he sure as hell didn’t fit in with the other Namekians.. It reminded him of Daimao and he didn’t enjoy it.

But when Dende would silently sit beside him, and practice taking deep breaths beneath the moonlight, closing his eyes to keep them from watering anymore than they already had, Piccolo knew. He knew that he was strong, one of the strongest fighters on this planet, and Namek. Perhaps stretching further into the Universe at large, what with how well he went up against Frieza’s earlier forms. 

Even with all that strength, Piccolo wasn’t strong enough to take Dende to his father. Not when, after the most graphic nightmare yet, he had clutched so tightly to his cape, and buried his face in the material. When he wrapped himself up as if Piccolo could protect him from everything.

Dende woke up that morning in his own bed, wrapped in a white cape. When he went out the next day, Piccolo seemed to be wearing a new one. Nobody but Gohan and his father had noticed, and neither said a word of it. Dende had kept it. Eventually, the fabric would but turned into a proper blanket, but the young Namekian was more focused on learning to master himself before he branched out into sewing.

And then, time passed too quickly. Piccolo watched Porunga with dread, and felt lesser for it. He was glad Tien, Chaiotzu, and Krillin returned. He nodded to each of them, distracted. When Goku couldn’t be brought back at first, he felt relieved, and then worse than ever before. How dare he, when Gohan’s face fell in one moment of vulnerability to look even more devastated then he had after his father’s first death?

But when they again, and Goku had refused to be brought back…

Piccolo  _ seethed. _

He thought back to Goku’s first death. How he had spent a year apart from his son. There was no avoiding that. The time he spent in the hospital, with Gohan by his side, was all too short lived. Gohan recovered more quickly than his father, and then he had gone to Namek. Goku had followed as soon as he could, of course.

Now, after over a year of time away from his son, no, closer to two years actually, Goku had the chance to live a peaceful life with his child.

And he refused.

He had thought of Gohan’s round face, hopeful eyes, and said he’d rather be across the damn Universe than with his son. 

Piccolo honestly, truly, could not understand what went through Goku’s head.

He watched Gohan carefully, and saw him retreat back into himself. And when Dende moved toward him for a hug, Piccolo realized with a horrifying, painful jolt that he’d be giving both of them up today. ChiChi was a kind enough woman to let him stay here to keep the other Namekians company, but she had as much of a right to her son as Goku. Perhaps, his mind supplied, even more, considering she'd been the one to make sure he was fed and taught. With all of Gohan’s four year old ramblings, he never really mentioned Goku doing much besides taking him out on adventures through the forest. Everything was about ChiChi’s homework, or her cooking, or the clothes she got for him. Piccolo felt even more an idiot than before.

And Dende...He was traveling across the Universe now, too. His father had placed a hand on his shoulder, and gave him a tired smile. Cargo smiled brightly at his side. Piccolo felt like he was letting a part of him walk away. 

Then Dende came over and hugged him tightly. He whispered a quiet thanks that spoke so much more than the few words he told Piccolo. 

The older Namekian gently set his hand on Dende’s head. He gave him a weak smirk, that seemed far more like an attempt at a smile. Dende beamed with tears in his eyes, and let go, heading back to his father.

And then, in a flash, Porunga had carried them all far, far away.

The gathering dispersed, and Piccolo watched ChiChi talk rapidly to Gohan about things the Namekian didn’t pay attention to. 

Goku had left Gohan alone, even if for a while. The thought stung to Piccolo, and he could only imagine how it hurt Gohan himself.

Which is why, when he offered to continue Gohan’s training, he felt relief at the genuine smile on his face, and felt like he had done something right for a change.

The downtime between training Gohan was more painful than before. 

The green wastelands he inhabited previously felt like pale imitations of Namek. He didn’t know how he’d handle going to the frozen blue wastes, and he’d rather not risk anymore unpleasant feelings. The woods near Goku’s home felt the...safest, in a way. He was far enough that he didn’t feel like he was imposing on Goku’s home, but wasn’t so far that he couldn’t be there if Gohan needed him.

He had, on occasion, visited Kami. It was stressful. He felt like he was staring down a part of him he forgot he had, which was nearly the case. Kami had a weight on his shoulders, and a gleam in his eye. He had always seen Piccolo as a threat, and they both knew it. Just because he was relieved Piccolo had done good, didn’t mean that there was no concern he’d decide to stop.

Those brief moments of musing on Namek made him feel more idiotic than he susually did. How could he honestly think Kami would be open to his questions? The man was clearly wary of him, even if he was never hostile.

His visits to the Lookout were brief, few, and far between. 

Piccolo missed Dende. He hadn’t known him for as long as he had Gohan, and perhaps it was Nail’s influence, but Dende had reminded him far too much of himself. 

The Demon did not feel fear. The Demon did not cower. 

The child, however, had. Since Daimao’s early childhood memories were so difficult, it was hard to adjust to living on his own. He had long since managed, but he saw fear in Dende’s eyes, and felt both too young, and too old. 

And then, shit hit the fan.

Frieza was back, and brought his father. A mysterious teen showed up and killed them effortlessly. Then Goku had landed, and Piccolo was not ready to hear about time travel, or the desolate alternate future they were hurtling towards. His sensitive hearing gave him a burden to bear for the next three years. 

Ever since they had Porunga grant their wishes, Piccolo, who had been preparing to hand Gohan’s training back over to his father, was also not ready for Goku to be excited to train with both Gohan and himself. Piccolo didn’t turn down his offer.

He had died to protect Gohan before. If it came down to it, he would again.

For as often as Goku sparred with Gohan and Piccolo, there were many times where he’d go off to spar with the other Z Warriors, or he’d swing by to fight Vegeta at Capsule Corp. 

Goku never seemed like he ran out of steam. Gohan, however, still needed his rest. Piccolo spent many a peaceful hour meditating beside his star pupil. During their breaks, Gohan would excitedly discuss what he had learned about biology, or engineering. He seemed to enjoy those fields. Sometimes, when Goku was off training on his own, Gohan would get quiet, and Piccolo would be reminded of the days spent waiting for Porunga with the other Namekians.

Gohan had already grown considerably. Clearly, there was room in his life for Piccolo to settle, at least somewhat. Even if it was only training, and even if it may only be for as long as there was a threat to train for, Piccolo would stay by his side. 

The times he got quiet were the times he’d ask about Namek, or Piccolo being a Namekian. Piccolo was all too willing to tell Gohan about the planet that felt like home, even if he technically saw more of it than the Namekian himself.

Gohan would ask about Nail. About how he had found him, and fused. If the strength was hard to adjust to at first, if he could ever hear Nail, or if he had gained any of his memories or personality at all.

Sometimes, when Gohan was tired after sparring, he’d ask about Piccolo’s life before he had met him. With the half saiyan falling asleep against the tree they were leaning against, Piccolo had considered his wording. He told Gohan, carefully, that in the beginning, there was Namek. That on that planet, things began to change for the worse, and a Namekian named Katas loved his son, and protected him the best he could.

Even if it meant never seeing him again.

He told him of how Katas’ son was named Conch. How a scared child grew up alone in the wastes. Piccolo figured Gohan was asleep already, but that continuing would be a good way to let him rest.

He told Gohan of how Conch found evil in the world, and wanted to right it. But the present guardian had refused to let him take their place, because of how evil had touched him. So Conch decided to purify himself. He rid himself of the evil parts of him, and became the new guardian.

He told Gohan that Conch didn’t only cast out the evil in him. He cast out his fear as a child, the isolation he had lived. All the most terrible parts of Conch had changed, and become something like a demon. They had become The Great Demon King Piccolo. 

They had become his father.

He told Gohan about the blurring at the edges of Daimao’s memories. How the good were few, and the bad were plenty. 

He told him about Daimao’s many children. Of how they all died, except for his last. 

He told Gohan about a child with a tail killing the demon king. How, in a last act of hatred and bitterness, he cast himself into his son.

He went quiet after that. Piccolo didn’t tell him what became of the egg. He was so distracted that he failed to notice that Gohan hadn’t fallen asleep once since he started talking, so much as he listened silently with his eyes closed. 

Gohan, after that night, stuck to Piccolo as if he were his shadow. He begged to learn his moves, and his strategies. 

He also asked after Goku, but there wasn’t the same kind of determination in his eyes. Piccolo relented to him. He was a strong Namekien, likely the strongest there was, but he still stood no chance against Gohan’s quiet requests.

Piccolo couldn’t fight Gohan’s request for him to join his family for after training meals. Piccolo mostly stuck to water, but he did on occasion eat something. ChiChi grew so used to him being there, that she set out an extra glass at his seat before they even came in.

Then, the Androids finally arrived. They all fought fiercely, and Piccolo felt a rush of pride he didn’t try to press down at how Gohan handled himself. 

And then there was Cell.

Piccolo faced Kami.

It felt like he was facing the shadow of Conch. In a way, he was.

Kami saw something in him. Something Piccolo didn’t believe was there. A good heart. 

The bitterness of Daimao, the loneliness and wounded trust began to heal over.

The regret of Nail, the worry and fears for those he couldn’t protect began to soothe.

Kami brought him a sense of peace he wasn’t expecting. Like high strung emotions were being smoothed out, and he could breathe easily. He had Conch’s memories now. All of them.

It’s not that Daimao got the worst memories, and Kami the good.

It’s that Conch had no good memories. His ambition to become the Guardian had been one born out of a desire to protect others from the injustice he’d witnessed. To heal others from the hurt he’d felt.

Piccolo realized that he had many fathers, like this. 

Guru, father of Nail.

Katas, father of Conch.

Conch was, in a way, the father of Daimao and Kami.

And here he was, at full power. Years of experience behind him, lifetimes of sorrow and regret, and ambition to do better. 

He was Piccolo, son of Daimao.

And right now, the child he loved as his own son needed him. 

He had died for Gohan before. If need be, he would again.

Goku retrieved Dende to take Kami’s place. Piccolo knew he was the one to give the go ahead, as he had perhaps taken on the role by joining with Kami. 

He spent a few moments alone with Dende, who had volunteered for the position. 

Piccolo told Dende there wasn’t a single Namekian he would have found better suited to the task, including himself. Watching the boy beam with pride made Piccolo smile back.

Dende told Piccolo he had missed him. Piccolo, though indirect in his response, returned the sentiment.

When Gohan asked for a gi like his own, Piccolo felt stronger. Like he stood a chance, now. 

He watched Goku fight Cell, and he felt like they could do it. The tournament rules were in their favor. No one would die or get hurt as long as Goku could do this, and they all knew Goku was the one it came down to.

Then Goku did something stupid.

All Piccolo could think about was how stupid it was.

About how he took it all back. He’d avenge his own fathers and grandfathers properly this time, by killing Goku and making sure he stays dead.

Was this what ChiChi felt? If so, Piccolo needed to apologize to that woman for the rest of his life.

He watched his Gohan step into the ring. 

And then Goku gave Cell a Senzu Bean.

He honestly blacked out. He couldn’t tell anyone what happened next until after some serious meditation and reflection.

He hated Goku in that moment. He hated himself even more for allowing this.

He had seen it for a long time. The curiosity in his eyes. How Gohan had treated everything in the world reverently, gently, because he just wanted to  _ understand _ . He looked at the world and its inhabitants and didn’t see scars, he saw stories. He was a child. He was  _ his child _ .

Gohan was screaming, and Piccolo’s sensitive hearing could hear muscles compressing and bones creaking and he was shouting in Goku’s face and didn’t even realize it.

** _“I WON’T LET GOHAN DIE._ ** Are you even THINKING? Gohan isn’t like you! He doesn’t understand why you, his father, threw him to Cell! AND THEN POWERED CELL UP. He is DYING, Goku. And all he’s thinking, through the worst pain he’s ever experienced, is  _ why won’t his father save him! _ He’s a boy Goku. An Eleven year old  _ child _ that is scared out of his mind! And the only thing getting past the agony of the ribs I hear cracking from here, is that his father  _ abandoned him. _ ”

Goku looked at Piccolo, shocked down to his core. They all did.

Piccolo ripped his weighted clothes off, he heard more bones creaking and Gohan was going to start running out of air, and if his ribs broke they could puncture his lung-

“Out of my way,  _ now. _ I’m protecting him.”

Goku then saw some semblance of reason and attempted to intervene with a senzu from Krillin. Cell, however, didn’t approve, and Piccolo was faced with the realization that Gohan was out there more or less on his own. 

When Gohan snapped, Piccolo felt something in him gave away, and he almost felt like he was grieving. He’d lost something. This was something that Gohan couldn’t just bounce back from. This would leave a scar on his psyche for a very long time, if not the rest of his life, and Piccolo regretted many things.

When Goku sacrificed himself, Piccolo felt cold.

Gohan was going to be his and ChiChi’s responsibility alone, if she would allow him to support Gohan as much as he could.

After the debris settled, and the populace realized the threat had passed, Piccolo, far more gently than he had ever before, guided Gohan home. ChiChi was, of course, still in shock. 

Piccolo did what he could to help her father. He knew little about how to run a household, so he mostly followed the Ox King’s cues, but with time, Gohan began to come back out of his shell. 

When ChiChi realized she was pregnant, she grieved all over again. Piccolo did something he never had before.

He knelt down, and took one of her hands in his, and he swore an oath that he would protect that child with his own life, just as he had and would continue to, with Gohan.

Goten was born not too long after, and it was a straightforward affair. Gohan had done extensive research, and after discussing it all with Piccolo, the Namekian couldn’t find it in himself to be squeamish.

Piccolo spent a lot of time at the Lookout with Dende and Gohan, either discussing Namekian mythos with Dende to help explain, or Earthling mythos with Gohan to help. Mostly, it was the two boys excitedly discussing everything and then going wildly off topic. Piccolo couldn’t find it in himself to care. Dende offered him a permanent room, and it took him some consideration, but he accepted. Even if he couldn’t promise to be there all the time, he saw it reassured Dende that he’d be sticking around for a good while.

After a year, things were almost back to normal. Considering how hectic the past decade had been, no one could be blamed for settling into peace while it lasted.

By all means, it seemed like it would last forever.


End file.
